


Five Things Dean Gave to Sam

by lovetincture



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consent Issues, Disordered Eating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetincture/pseuds/lovetincture
Summary: Five things Dean gave to Sam, whether he wanted them or not.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71





	Five Things Dean Gave to Sam

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Round 7 of the SPN Masquerade fest on Livejournal, for the [prompt](https://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/12846.html?thread=4540974#t4540974): "Wincest, dark 5 times fic; Five times Dean has nonconned Sam. Somnophilia, curses, possession, punishment, 'want you too much not to have you' - whatever you want! Would love it if Sam came at least once."
> 
> I don't often do fic fests, but this one was fun. <3

1\. Game

There’s one Sam can barely remember—a memory, one fuzzy with the soft edges of childhood. It’s mostly sensations, Dean’s warm, humid breath in his face, the smell of his big brother in his nose. They’re pressed together from their faces all the way down to the place where Sam’s ankles end at Dean’s calves.

Dean’s got a knee between his legs, pushing up with a steady pressure that makes Sam feel hot and flushed all over. He presses down against Dean on instinct, and Dean encourages him with a hand on his butt, pushing Sam forward into the feeling.

It’s just a game they play, one that’s hot and sticky under the covers. As an adult, Sam isn’t even sure it really happened. Dean never mentions it, so neither does he.

  
2\. Sobriety

He expected a lot of things, when Dean found out. He expected Dean to haul off and hit him in the face. He expected Dean to cuss him out and give him hell. He sees now that it was a failure of imagination on his part, because he never thought to imagine that Dean would do this. That Dean would lock him in an iron cell warded to hell and back, like Sam is some kind of monster. He didn’t think Dean would lie.

“Dean, it’s not funny anymore! Dean! Let me out!”

But Dean doesn’t, of course. Dean leaves him like a sitting duck, all his worst memories come to eat him alive. Sam dreams, when he’s stuck in the cell. He just isn’t sure if he sleeps.

  
3\. Bread

Sam never consciously decides to give up on eating. It’s not like he wakes up one day and decides he’s going to starve himself, that he’s going to have issues eating flesh, that he’ll never feel quite clean but at least he’ll feel cleaner with an empty stomach. Like most everything else in his life, it was a slow slide from there to here. He thinks of frogs boiling in a pot. He thinks of the ship of Theseus.

He’s read the websites. He knows the diagnostic criteria for anorexia is highly specific. If he wants to be pedantic, he falls more along the orthorexia/ED-NOS portion of the spectrum than anything else. He’s not anorexic, whatever Dean says with a too-sharp smile when he’s ribbing Sam and trying (failing) to cover up how worried he is.

He’s not cold either. It’s not that he doesn’t notice Dean’s worry. It’s not even that he doesn’t care. It’s just that he’s tired, and the way Dean cares about him sometimes feels too heavy to hold. He feels lighter when he skips a meal or two, feels cleansed when he skips oils, eats only leafy greens, snags a packet of crackers from the kitchen and eats it slowly over the course of a day.

Dean makes chili for dinner. Sam says he’s not hungry.

Dean makes bacon and eggs for breakfast. Sam’s got research to do in the library.

Dean makes tuna sandwiches for lunch and sits Sam down and says they’re going to sit there until Sam finishes his food and god help me, Sam, I will hold you the fuck down if I have to.

Sam eats his food.

  
4\. Joy

After Gadreel is forced out of his head, Sam spends a lot of time sorting through his memories. He does it obsessively, looking for any sign that he should have known—the gaps of time when he thought he’d spaced out. The clocks that never seemed to work quite right. Dean nudging his shoulder going, “Hey, space cadet, where’d you go?” 

Dean knew. Dean sent him there.

Sam thinks about all the times they’d fucked during those months—happy memories, memories of Dean smiling up at him, flash of white teeth and miles of warm, tan skin. He recontextualizes every one. He thinks of every moan, gasp, and whimper Dean had eked out of him, and they all feel stolen. It feels like a fucking wiretap, an interloper listening in on something that was only ever supposed to be for the two of them, and Dean let it happen. Dean made it happen.

He’s paranoid now. So fucking paranoid, he can’t even manage to touch himself. He wakes hard in the mornings and breathes hard and heavy, staring up at the ceiling, leaning into the stubborn ache in his dick and willing it away. He couldn’t touch Dean if he tried. Dean doesn’t ask, and Sam can’t tell if that makes him hate his brother more or less.

Dean tricks him into living. Then he does it again.

  
5\. Truth

There’s a demon looking at Sam with Dean’s face. It walks like Dean and talks like Dean. It sneers up at Sam like Dean. It won’t shut the fuck up like Dean.

“You know what I want, Sammy? I mean, what I really want.”

“To rip my throat out with your teeth. You mentioned.”

Dean laughs, a low, throaty chuckle that still manages to send a dark shiver through Sam. “Nah. I mean, yeah, that too, for sure, but that’s just the fun stuff. You know what I really want, way down in my heart of hearts?”

Sam ignores him, plunging the needle into his arm to draw another vial full. He wrenches Dean’s head to the side and jabs the needle into his neck, mindful of his teeth.

Dean keeps talking like Sam is holding up his end of the conversation. Like this really is a conversation instead of a monologue that makes Sam feel sicker by the minute, even through the cushioning haze of mild blood loss.

“I want to put you in a little box. Keep you safe from everyone, Sammy, even you. I’d lock you up tight so no one could even so much as look at you. I’d even fuck you, if you asked me real nice.”

Sam snorts, and it’s a mistake—it’s a mistake even reacting at all. He knows it as soon as Dean trains those keen, black eyes on him.

“You think it’s the demon talking,” Dean says. “I promise it’s not.”

“Stop.”

“Sammy.”

“Stop.” The name sounds twisted in Dean’s mouth.

“I’ve always felt this way, little brother. I always will.”

“You’re not Dean,” Sam says calmly. “You’re not all Dean.”

He left something important in the other room. He needs to get it right now. His hands aren’t shaking. That isn’t Dean.

Dean laughs and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/lovetincture), where I'm still losing my goddamn mind over the finale.


End file.
